Hero
by lupoaica
Summary: Quinn, Son Nomad President and Eden, a stripper; are hardly in your regular, average joe relationship. When a renegade MC try to weasel in on the Son's turf and drugs start being dealt on the streets, it's up to Quinn to help Wes, Portland's Charter President get down to the bottom of this. Portland, Oregon is never going to be the same.


**Title:** Hero.

**Author:** lupoacia.

**Date:** 30/9/2013.

**Rating:** NC-17 for gore, language, adult situations and so on and so forth.

**Length:** Multi-Chaptered.

**Summary: **She was dancing six nights a week, trying to pay off her loans and find her place in life while dealing with the deeper relationship she craves from him. He was Nomad pres, never settling in one place, never keeping one girl. But charged with looking into the hurricane rolling through Oregon in the form of a renegade MC and meth lab and now his local girls feelings, Quinn is reassessing what he thinks he wants and needs. Eden hardly expected Quinn to be her knight in leather armour but maybe he'd surprise her and himself along the way.

**Disclaimer:** All the locations and characters recognized from the Sons of Anarchy verse belong to Kurt Sutter and FX. I merely own those not recognized; Eden, Izzy, Ruby, Lolli's and so on and so forth – those are the only things I claim ownership over and the story itself. The story is merely a work of fanfiction, no money is being made from this; it is for entertainment value only.

**Author's Note:** I'm working on chapter two of Saints and Sinners, it will be up soon but I was writing this in conjunction with Saints and Sinners. I still actively write on my old account but these babies are pretty much taking up my attention at the moment while I try to figure out all my Lord of the Rings and Hobbit stories. You can find pictures of Eden on my profile.

**Feedback: **Very welcome and appreciated.

**Beta-Reader:** NA.

* * *

Twelve years she'd lived in Oregon. Winter was a bitch every year but this, this was unbearable. Cold snaps had plunged the days into the downright frigid temperatures and thunderstorms every few days rolling off the Cascade Ranges were making it a bitch to not have a car to travel round in. No tornadoes yet, a somewhat bright side to the miserable fucking weather.

It was one of those days, into the first week of winter that Eden was grumbling about the miserable turn as she ratted through her closet for some of her winter wear. Wrapped in her bathrobe, hair piled in a wet, tangled mess atop her head she hardly looked fit to face the day. Getting in later than normal at three had messed up her sleep pattern; she'd woken up three times thinking she'd overslept only to glance at the clock and swear before flopping back down into bed.

She was a yawning, shivering, tired mess and yet she couldn't lounge round the house as much as the couch and reruns of Justified were calling her name.

At twenty-six she was hardly the all-American girl; sure, she looked it to any person who took a glance at her – at five foot three she was blonde, blue-eyed, curvy and petite with a kind smile.

But she hardly held down a typical job. Stripping, burlesque dancing – hardly the kind of girl a guy would want to bring home to their mother. She wasn't tattooed or pierced but she stripped and the stigma that hung over that kind of job prevented her from getting close to a nice, normal guy. Not like a nice, normal guy would do much for her anyway.

Glancing over to the photo hanging near her dressing table mirror she sighed and shoved the thoughts aside. He'd been gone a month. She hadn't heard much from him – a text here and there to let her know he was alive and in New York then Boston on _club business. _

Eden knew better than to ask. She wasn't his old lady and she didn't even think she'd be classed in the girlfriend column either. She was just the bed he fell into when he rolled into Oregon and didn't want to spend the night in the clubhouse up in the city.

Coupled with being tired and her depressing thoughts, Eden was not looking forward to the day.

Sluggishly she dragged on a pair of black skinny jeans, a flannel button down, a pair of shit kicker boots, fingerless gloves and a beanie before she managed to locate his jacket. The hoodie was a simple black one, had no recognisable tags or pattern to show who it belonged to and so she dragged it on, snuggling into the massively over-sized thing and smiling a little at the familiar smell of smoke on it.

She knew he would laugh at her if he saw her in that moment. Big, bad biker didn't like clingy but she admittedly missed his massive ass. Quinn was hardly a knight in shining armour. He was gruff, tattooed and a Nomad for the Sons of Anarchy. _He_ was not the kind of guy you'd take home to your folks but he was real. With him, she was safe.

Grabbing her backpack, shoving her purse and other things into it, she zipped it up before grabbing her house keys from the dresser and heading for the front door. She needed coffee.

* * *

Homestead, Oregon may have been a fifteen minute drive away from Portland but it felt like it was a world and time away; the local stores on the main street were small and most had been there for the better part of thirty years or so. Her favourite shop along the main street was a quaint little rustic café named Alley Snax. The staff knew her well and the food and coffee were amazing.

Ducking in through the front door, beneath the arm of a guy as he was leaving, she said a thank you and smiled at the familiar warmth that greeted her. It was still early and Homestead was slow to wake up of a Sunday. At seven in the morning, Alley Snax was barely occupied. A couple of regulars she saw every day of the week were scattered about, mostly old folks who all but lived in the place, reading _The Oregonian_ and buried in their breakfasts.

No one even looked up as she'd ducked in and crossed to the counter and slipped onto a stool. The place was rustic and felt like it was stuck in the fifties; Starbucks had shit all on this place.

Behind the coffee machine was Reggie, a twenty something year old with a pen stuck over one ear and an adorably wide, megawatt smile. He gave her a small two fingered salute. "The usual?"

She nodded and he bounded to action.

Eden dropped her backpack at the foot of her stool as she hummed along with the music playing over the speakers; Ain't Got No Home by Clarence "Frogman" Henry.

"How's life treating ya, doll?"

She lifted one shoulder in answer as the kid made her coffee. It wasn't that Eden didn't appreciate the attempt to try and make small talk from such a cutie; she just wasn't in the best of headspaces for small talk to go over well.

From out of the kitchen she heard shouting and couldn't help but wince a little catching the Irish accent round the cussing. Chef wasn't a happy camper this morning. "What crawled up his butt today?"

Reggie chuckled. "You see the game last night?"

It dawned on her and she had to face palm. "Nimrod deserves to be cussing then. Phil should know better than to bloody tip against our Winterhawks."

She couldn't help but rib the chef, especially when he was betting against their home team and on the subject of hockey no less. Phil should have known by now not to bet against the Winterhawks; they'd been on too good of a streak since the season started.

"Damn right. He had to fork over a hundred to me alone."

Eden snickered. "I told him. He needs to start listening to us crazed hockey fans," she said, grabbing two sugars from the holder near her arm as Reggie set her large takeaway cup in front of her, minus the lid.

For the past eleven years she'd been coming in here and always ordered the same coffee; large flat white with caramel syrup. She always put her own sugars in. Reggie thought she had some form of OCD she was so picky over it. Eden would just shrug and continue to tip two packets of sugar in.

Given her lack of sleep and long day ahead, she poured an extra two packets in. "You're gonna be bouncing."

She smiled. "Exactly, need the high for the day."

Between her, the chef, the little old owner named George and Reggie on coffee hockey was a much debated and argued over topic in the early hours of the morning when she arrived. The old ladies George was renowned for flirting with thought she was crazy for liking such a violent sport.

Growing up in Montreal, Canada with a dad who played in the pros for five years before his knee cost him his spot, Eden loved the game. Because of the hours she worked at Lollipop's Leather and Lace she hadn't seen a game in four years. She would have loved to have been in the crowd, maybe dragged Quinn along to one – no doubt he'd appreciate the violence and physicality of the sport.

Okay down girl she chastised. Like Quinn would actually want to go on a normal civilian date with her. Quinn wasn't civilian; he'd probably prefer climbing into a ring and beating the shit out of one of someone rather than just sit and watch guys skate round a ring.

There was no way Wesley would be nice enough to give her the night off for it anyway so it was wishful thinking. Quinn didn't do civilian; he rolled into town, he climbed into bed, they fucked, he'd occasionally stay for breakfast and then she wouldn't see him until her shift that night in the Leather and Lace.

She got over it after the first few months of their unique relationship when she realized that he wasn't the stay in one place long kind of guy.

Coming out of her thoughts she noticed Reggie standing in front of her on the opposite side of the counter, tapping his hands along the counter.

Eden knew this routine as well. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Where was George when you needed him? The old man's presence generally fended off the date question.

Ever since he'd started working at Alley Snax all those years ago when he was sixteen and she was nineteen, the kid had asked her out every chance he got despite being younger than her. Eden thought it was kind of sweet that he was so eager but after the first month of turning him down, she'd been hoping he'd take the hint.

It wasn't that he was ugly; in fact for his age and skinny build he was pretty cute with a nice, clean face and wide smile with bright blue eyes and surfer style blond hair. Any girl would jump him if he cracked onto them but Eden wasn't either of those and her taste in men ran in a literal polar opposite direction.

Wonder how the guy would react if she dragged Quinn in her and introduced him to them. The idea was enough to nearly make her crack a smile.

She wasn't going to be the first one to talk. No way. If he wanted to ask, again, kid had to grow the balls for it and just ask. "I've got tickets to next week's game; Winterhawks versus the Tri-City Americans. I- Uh- If you were free, want to come with me?"

Damn cutie pie was smart; offer her a date by dangling hockey tickets over her head. She looked at him with wide eyes over the rim of her takeaway cup and fought the urge to giggle at how awkward he looked.

She needed to put an end to this.

Setting her cup down, she slid off her seat and picked up her backpack. "Reggie, as flattering as it is to get asked out by such a cute guy but I'm currently seeing someone and he doesn't like sharing with anyone, so as much as I would love to go see a hockey game with you, I really can't."

Reggie looked a little surprised. Yeah, she didn't give much away in terms of her love life to the guys here. She liked keeping things private. Izzy and the girls at the club knew she was technically taken. If Quinn came in, she was the only one to dance for him. He wouldn't ask for another girl since the first night she'd danced for him.

"Oh, no worries, didn't realise you were seeing someone," he said, trying to brush it off as something casual and that he hadn't just been turned down.

"Yeah, we're private like that," she replied, glancing at her watch.

"Well he's a lucky guy." Eden paused and glanced at the kid before smiling a little at him before saying her goodbyes and heading out the door, digging her phone out of her pocket to ring Izzy.

* * *

Izzy Munroe was one third of the Oreo Line, as they'd been so affectionately named by their boss all those years ago, and Eden's closest friend. At twenty-eight she was a tall, muscular African-American Portland native with a love for dogs and the Simpsons show.

Attending college had been an on the whim decision when Eden had expressed interest over going but being terrified of it. Fashion design was a cut throat industry but they both worked hard – both wanted to do something more than just strip for a living and their designs were good. Neither wanted to be some big shot designer but their plans for a clothing store down the track motivated them.

They didn't tell people what they did beyond college, both opting for the simple – hostess for a private club line. Strippers had a stigma, they both knew it but being it was good money in the end, it paid their loans off, kept roofs over their heads and food in the fridge. For now, it was their only way to survive while studying.

Now as she sat opposite her friend at the picnic table they'd claimed during their lunch break, Izzy knew something was up with her friend. Eden sat there, headphones in and lazily sketching out strange designs rather than actual clothes. She had been quiet since they'd met up out the front of their lecture.

Leaning over and nudging her friend, she waited until the headphones were out before asking: "What's the matter with you, space cadet?"

Eden smiled a little before sighing and lifting her shoulder in a one sided shrug.

"Don't know. Just feel a little, I don't know, lost maybe." Izzy didn't need to be told too much to know when Eden was upset because her man hadn't come back to Portland in two months. She didn't like the relationship between her friend and the biker; sure, he was good to her when he was here but no matter how much Eden tried to brush it aside, she was falling deep for the big guy. And Izzy truthfully didn't like it.

Izzy couldn't rightly see the attraction. Rane Quinn was hardly a nice, average Joe looking guy. He was tall, about six foot five, had hair past his shoulder, a beard and was adorned in tattoos which only added to his already intimidating frame, not to mention he was extremely broad. Guy looked like a stereotypical biker in shit kicker boots, jeans and either a wife beater or mechanic shirt underneath that vest he wore.

Kutte she reminded herself while watching her friend. Meeting Quinn once had been enough; she tended to keep clear of him when he stopped into their work.

And then you had Eden who was the literal appearance of a girl next door; blonde, blue-eyed, pretty and small but curvy. She had bite which generally drew the wrong kind of men but when Quinn had walked into the club that night and paid for a dance off Eden the rest had been history; two months later she'd turned up early one morning at Eden's to find Quinn answering the door in nothing but sweats and looking ready to murder.

Eve found out later that she'd interrupted morning sex; something Quinn loved and hence his sour mood towards her that whole awkwardly, long and tense breakfast.

"You have my attention, lost girl."

Narrowed blue eyes shooting daggers at her made her smirk back. "Just been thinking a little about well, Quinn to be honest and where I stand. I mean, I get it, he won't settle – he's a Sons Nomad but I just… It's complicated."

Izzy made a disgruntled noise at the word complicated. "Yeah and I'm Buddha." She had the feeling Eden was hardly the only ass the guy was tapping; he probably had a girl in each state tied up in the same net. Eden had let it slip one night in a drunken stupor what a Nomad role in an MC was and that women hung round the clubs like crows to catch one of the bikers and Nomads were popular with the girls so _affectionately_ titled sweetbutts.

Bikers were dicks she had surmised but she played nice with Quinn and the Portland Sons charter given Eden's affiliation with them. The fact that Quinn was banging more than just Eden had never sat right with Izzy. While yes, she took her clothes off for a group of drunken, desperate souls most nights a week she believed in one man and one woman relationships none of this cruising round and having a girl in numerous states.

She didn't like the whole biker non-spoken rule; woman belongs to man but man is free to wander.

Yet another of Eve's drunken slips.

"I want something more," Eden whispered after a moment.

Izzy froze and glanced at her. "With Quinn?"

"Yeah sure," she snorted, "I can't even get him to take me out on a normal date; you know, movie or game, dinner maybe and then the sex not the whole ride into town unannounced, pick me up from work, take me home and fuck me senseless-" Izzy silently gagged at the idea of sex with Quinn "-then leave the next morning. I know I'm not old but I want a guy who appreciates all of me."

Eden dropped her head onto her sketch book as Izzy set her pencil down and proper her chin on her hand. "Have you tried to tell him any of this?" she prodded.

Eden flipped her the bird. "Come on Iz, you already know he hates me discussing anything with him. He doesn't even like to talk after sex!"

Izzy worded herself very carefully. "Maybe its time to either sit his ass down, or tie the giant to your bed and threaten him with the no sex routine."

Eden raised one fine eyebrow. "It doesn't work like that with his type."

"What big, tattooed, hairy, scary type," she scoffed, "Pa-lease. He has a problem with intimacy, a lot of guys do but you can't keep being his piece of Portland ass – relationships, healthy relationships _do not_ work like his and yours does."

Eden huffed and dropped her head onto her sketch book, moaning out; "I know."

Izzy sighed and shifted on the bench. "Look it's been what three years. You've had fun with him, Eden. Come on, you're young – I get the whole attracted to an older guy thing but sometimes things don't work out the way we want."

Eden yet again flipped her the bird. "Give me a break. It's not like I'm arguing with you on this."

Izzy chuckled. "Thank heavens you finally see the light!" She barely managed to dodge the pencil hurled at her head.

"Fuck you!"

* * *

That night, Eden knew it was going to be a horrible shift at Lolli's. The old fart wasn't a bad boss just greedy and sometimes it made him a little nasty; new girls were rare – most didn't come back after a night here. It was a friendly joint but it wasn't an easy line of work. The beer wasn't watered down, Lolli knew better than to give his regular biker cliental watered down drinks.

Most of the regulars she wasn't worried about. Sure, they liked to grab but they didn't set her on edge.

This kid though; he was another story entirely.

The Oreo Line; consisting of Eden, Izzy and another dark skinned dancer named Ruby performed three main routines a night together and didn't the boys eat it up, pun figuratively intended. Eden didn't like dancing alone up on stage, she didn't mind a lap dance here or there for the guys but she wasn't too keen on any of the back room work and so it was how she'd found herself looking after the kid.

Dark mop of curls, some stubble and pale skin but he wore a kutte and it had been the only reason she'd swayed over to him with a spar beer. Didn't give her a name though, muttered something barely intelligible about names not being necessary or some such.

Why she had thought this had been a better choice than drinking it up with the Renegade boys from Boston who'd been passing through she didn't know but she'd done it.

He had his arm wrapped about her waist, holding her in close to him as she tried to get him to talk to her a little. What was it with bikers and not being big talkers?

She did notice one thing odd, he twitched a lot. His hands shook too, like he was on edge or hyperactive. Eden didn't know how he'd managed to get the bottle to his lips with how bad it was.

That should've been Eden's first clue to call Chad, the bar's security over, to at least keep an eye on them. The place was packed enough that from where they sat; Chad didn't have a direct line of sight to them.

When he had suddenly pulled her into his lap and grabbed her ass and jaw, Eden had almost decked the guy until she'd seen his pupils; they were so blown you could barely see the blue of them from the black and then as her hand had dropped to his side to push herself away, she'd felt the knife beneath his kutte.

Fuck, this was shaping up to be a bad night she thought as she called out to Chad and tried to push herself away from him.

* * *

Sitting in the emergency with Izzy, Eden huffed, beyond irritated. Her arm was packed in a tea towel from the back room of the bar; Chad's only option when she'd been left in the booth shaking in shock and Izzy had rushed over to her.

Fucking biker prospect; she wasn't going to go running to Lee and tattle on the kid but next time the Sons turned up in the bar – she wasn't holding back. The prospect had been so out of it, he'd been ranting to Chad the whole way out of the bar until he'd been quite literally tossed onto his back on the side of the road and left there.

Chad said he'd been saying they were after him, that it was only a matter of time before they ran it all, before he was dead in a six foot deep grave.

Jeez, the guy was on some pretty strong stuff to be tripping like that.

The nurse who approached asked for her full name, date of birth and address. She repeated them off for the fourth time that night before following the woman down the hall, Izzy at her side. It took an hour and a half to stitch and bandage her arm. The Tylenol helped take the edge off but once the bandage was on all she wanted was for the blasted thing to be off – it itched, like crazy.

Izzy drove her home. She slept in the car most of the way; head leaning against the window and listening to the dull beat of Izzy's latest music style; something jazz at the moment.

Shitty end to a shitty day she thought bitterly when Izzy gently shook her awake.

Sighing, she shouldered her bag and climbed out of the car, checking her phone to find two missed calls from Lolli, six messages from Ruby and none from Quinn. Not really a big surprise there. She wasn't going to tell him about tonight either. Ringing him up and telling him she'd been cut by some idiot, drugged up biker prospect wasn't going to sit well with him; he'd want to pulverise the kid until he couldn't breathe. That or he'd have the kid thrown out on his ass from the club.

If he was a Son; Eden was still mulling over the thought she'd had while having her arm stitched. Maybe he wasn't a Son? There were other clubs in Oregon after all. She didn't know them by sight but she'd heard Quinn make mention of a club called the Roughnecks.

Getting inside and changing into a pair of boxers and baggy shirt, Eden was happy to know Izzy would let herself out and lock up with her spare key. Collapsing beneath the sheets and curling up in the cool, she sighed while listening to the rain patter against the roof of her small house.

The sound had never come at a better time. When she'd been a little kid the rain had been a soothing relief during long nights when she'd woken up from nightmares and her mother had been out working and her father had been passed out drunk on the couch.

The CDs were always tucked away into her top drawer these days that were made of nothing but nature sounds.

As she tucked her good arm beneath her pillow, Eden prayed tomorrow would have something better in store for her; she really didn't think it could get much worse than some hopped up kid slicing her arm up.


End file.
